


You Naggin' Me

by apple_pi



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Songfic, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-28
Updated: 2005-03-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 09:23:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7612612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Billy.” Dom’s voice, floating in from the laundry room, didn’t sound happy. Or unhappy. He did sound sort of… patient. <br/>“Yeah?” Billy muted the telly to be able to hear him. <br/>“Can you come in here?”<br/>Billy sighed. Put down his beer and heaved himself off the sofa. He walked into the laundry room; remembered halfway there that he’d a load of clothing sitting in the washer. “Sorry,” he muttered, opening the lid and pulling the damp trousers and shirts out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Naggin' Me

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a ska song by Austin band The Stingers ATX.

One time:  
I know that feeling—  
It keeps me reeling, so  
Why don’t you shut your mouth?

“Billy.”

Dom’s voice, floating in from the laundry room, didn’t sound happy. Or unhappy. He did sound sort of… patient. 

“Yeah?” Billy muted the telly to be able to hear him. 

“Can you come in here?”

Billy sighed. Put down his beer and heaved himself off the sofa. He walked into the laundry room; remembered halfway there that he’d a load of clothing sitting in the washer. “Sorry,” he muttered, opening the lid and pulling the damp trousers and shirts out. 

“S’okay.”

Two times:  
You tell me the same things—  
But my ears are still ringing, so  
Why don’t you shut your mouth?

“Billy!”

Billy twisted the little controller. “ _Ha!_ What?” He punched the red button frantically. “Die, you little fuckers! Die!”

“Billy, you left your fucking clothes in the washer again!”

“Och, move ’em on for me, would you, Dom?” Billy contorted his body and face in unconscious imitation of his pixelated sword-fighter. “Fucker! Fuck!”

Silence from the back of the house, and then an overly loud _clang_ and _whump_ —the washer lid closing, followed by the dryer door. The low hum of a dryer happily tumbling kecks into fluffy, warm oblivion.

You naggin’, you naggin’, you naggin’ me,  
You naggin’, you naggin’, you naggin’ me,  
You naggin’, you naggin’, you naggin’ me,  
Whoa.

“Oh, for Chrissakes.”

This time Billy was in the kitchen to hear Dom’s muttered invective, and he squinched his eyes shut, waiting for the yell. Sure enough:

“Billy!”

“M’right here.” Billy pulled his hands out of the dishwater and shook them as he turned to the laundry room door. “What?”

Dom was dangling a sodden pair of his boxers between his thumb and forefinger. “Do I wear pants?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dominic, I’m right in the middle of the washing up. If you’d like to trade places with me—”

“I’d _like_ you to put your own fucking laundry into the dryer just once before we both die of old age!” Dom dropped the article in question back into the maw of the machine and glared.

“Overreact much?” Billy sneered.

“I’m just sick of it! There are no fucking laundry fairies in this house! There’s just _me_ , and every goddamn time I try to wash a load of clothing, your shit is still in here!” 

“Maybe you _should_ be the laundry fairy, standing there with your hands on your hips like that.” Billy smirked and stepped in front of Dom rudely. He felt Dom step back, seething, and began throwing his (barely still wet) clothes into the dryer. “Fucking nag like a fucking fishwife,” he muttered—he could practically hear the vein in Dom’s forehead throb. “Like living with my fucking sister.”

“Boyd—”

“Done.” Billy slammed the dryer door and turned the little knob, punched the “start” button viciously. He swaggered back into the kitchen. “Now if you don’t mind—” he raised his voice— “I’ll just finish the dishes. That you left here for two days.”

“Fucking slob.” 

It would be hard to say which man muttered the words.

Three times:  
I know that feeling—  
It’s unbelievable,  
You just don’t shut your mouth.

“Billy, we have to talk.” Dom sounded so serious that Billy looked up from his book, startled. 

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s this laundry shit.” Dom sat down on the couch with him. “I know I’m not the cleanest person in the world, but Christ, it really gets to me when I go to do laundry and I have to put your stuff in the dryer.”

Billy’s mouth clamped shut over his laugh. Dom saw it anyway, of course, and he stared daggers until Billy got his face back under control. “I’m sorry, Dom, really, s’just you sounded so serious—”

“—I am!” Dom looked hurt. “I think I’m going to come and kill you in your sleep if I find another load of wet laundry in the washing machine.”

Billy grinned. “How would you kill me?”

“Strangulation with a wet shirt,” Dom said. “Seriously.”

“Alright, alright,” Billy held his hands up, laughing, and Dom finally smiled, too. “What do you want to do? I just, y’know. I forget I’ve put clothes in there, ’s’all.” He shrugged.

Dom sat back. “I’ll put a timer in there, just one of the cheap twisty ones. Set it for thirty minutes and then go get your clothes when you hear it.”

“Okay. I know I suck about it, Dommie. I’ll be better.” Billy furrowed his brow. “Wait. What do you mean, a twisty timer? What’s a twisty timer?”

Dom rolled his eyes. “You know. The ones where you twist the dial to set the timer.” 

Billy giggled. 

“Well, what would _you_ call it, William?”

“Fine, fine.” Billy crawled over to Dom and straddled him. “Are you done being all domestic?”

Dom settled deeper into the cushions and put his hands on Billy’s hips, holding him solidly close. “You don’t think sex is domestic?”

Billy pushed his hands through Dom’s hair. “Not unless it’s done atop major household appliances, no.”

“So sofas are good?”

“Sofas are excellent.”

“Alright then, William.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Dominic.”

Four times:  
Over and over—  
I know just what to do  
To make you shut your mouth.

“William fucking Boyd!”

“Why are you taking my name in vain in that ugly manner?” Billy jumped up from the computer and stamped back to the laundry room.

“Because you don’t have a middle name, you fucking fucker, and your fucking clothes are still in the washer, and, _and_ , you _fucking_ got one of my _fucking_ shirts in with your clothes and now it’s _pink_ , it’s PINK, my fucking shirt is _PINK!_ ” Dom yelled as Billy rounded the door.

“I didn’t hear the fucking _timer_ , and if your fucking shirt was in my load of clothes, then you must have put the fucking thing in my fucking basket, DOMINIC FUCKING _MONAGHAN!_ ” Billy yelled right back.

“HEY! I _HAVE_ MIDDLE NAMES!” Dom threw the wet shirt at Billy—it splatted wetly onto his neck, a wet and sloppy embrace, and Billy roared.

“ _MONAGHAN!_ ” He peeled it away and balled it up, firing it at Dom’s chest. Another splat and then Dom was pulling Billy’s clothing out of the washer and pelting it at him as hard and fast as he could. 

“Fucking—lazy— _bastard!_ ” Dom yelled.

Billy howled with outrage. “YOU call ME lazy?” He caught the clothes and catapulted them back at Dom. “Coming from the _man_ —who _sleeps_ —till fucking _NOON_ —on fucking _weekdays?_ ”

“I DO NOT!” Dom nailed Billy right in the kisser with a pair of boxers and started laughing loudly.

Billy froze; the wet underwear slid off his face and fell to the dusty concrete floor. “Right.” He narrowed his eyes; his lips twitched and then thinned as he straightened his face.

Dom was giggling now, hands over his mouth, eyes bright blue in his bright red face. “Right.” He watched Billy, knowing he’d gone too far, unable to stop cackling. “Right,” he repeated breathlessly, gasping for oxygen. “What’re you going to do?”

“I’m going to commit an act of domestic violence,” Billy said, stepping over the small pile of wet laundry at his feet toward Dom and unbuttoning his jeans.

Dom squeaked, giggles still squirting from between his fingers.

You naggin’, you naggin’, you naggin’ me,  
You naggin’, you naggin’, you naggin’ me,  
You naggin’, you naggin’, you naggin’ me,  
Whoa.

“Next time we should turn the washer on,” Dom said, reaching up to pat the machine with a hollow thump.

Billy lifted his head from the detergent box he’d pulled over to use as a pillow a few moments ago. “I thought only lonely housewives used the spin cycle for that.”

“Listen, Bills, you’ve just converted me to domesticity,” Dom said. He dropped his hand onto Billy’s thigh. Billy’s sweaty, naked thigh, currently draped across Dom’s sweaty, naked waist. “Those lonely housewives are probably onto something.”

“They could be, at that.” Billy sighed and yawned. “Look at the mess you’ve made, Dominic.”

Dom pinched Billy’s skin. “Moi?”

“Listen, I’ll take the fall for the dryer sheets, but you’re rewashing this load of clothes.”

“Why should I?” Dom tried hard to sound indignant, but the yawn that interrupted his protest robbed it of credibility.

Billy sat up, leaned over to lick Dom’s damp, limp cock. “Not my come all over them.”

Dom twitched and then subsided, stretching his hands over his head. “Then you’ll have to wash _me_ up.”

Billy patted his hip and stood on rubbery legs. “I can do that.”

Dom took Billy’s proffered hand and let himself be pulled upright, staggering for a second and then leaning against the washing machine. “In a while—let the washer fill before you start the shower.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Clean.” Billy leaned in and kissed him. 

“Go on with you,” Dom said when they broke apart; he smacked Billy’s arse lightly. “Go be useful and get clean towels out or something.”

“Mkay. Thanks for starting the laundry again.” Billy kissed him once more, lightly, and padded away.

“S’okay.” Dom sighed, and once Billy was gone, leaned to begin picking up clothes. “You’d probably just leave them in the fucking washer again anyway.”

“…I heard that!”


End file.
